All that is Gold
by PurpleHat
Summary: After the debacle with Estel, Glorfindel has wandered alone for years. It is now 3018. We all know that he will meet Estel again in The Flight to the Ford. How will that awkward meeeting go? Sequel to Strange Gifts. Warning: slash. Concrit welcome.
1. Chapter 1

Third Age 3018

Glorfindel stared listlessly into the small fire. He had walked for days without cease, for only in relentless activity could he find any sort of comfort. He wrapped his worn cloak closer against the chilly wind.

Long had he wandered in the wild, spending years without contact with his own kind, or indeed, any kind. Now a chilly night in late summer found him high in the hills of Forochel, looking across that lonely land to the bleak, ice-bound sea.

The sun had set an hour before, but the west still glowed with the last, clear turquoise light of the long Northern dusk. Overhead, the first stars glittered in a navy blue sky. Another little gust of wind eddied through the scrub, rustling last year's dry brown leaflets on the ground.

Suddenly he was alert. At the very limit of his hearing was the faint sound of someone moving almost noiselessly through the grass. He was on his feet in an instant and, drawing his sword soundlessly from its leather sheath he slid into the darkness away from the fire.

To his alarm, two dark-cloaked figures emerged into the firelight, drawn swords glittering.

"Hssst. Is that you Glorfindel?" said one of then in an undertone. " We can see you, you know. There's no point trying to hide."

Glorfindel circled round, moving closer, but not into full view, knowing that the dazzle of the firelight would make the deeper gloom away from it impenetrable.

One cloaked figure threw back its hood, and moved so that the firelight fell full on its face. It was an Elf, fair of face, even for his kind, but his expression was falcon-fierce. His dark hair glimmered in the flickering light.

Glorfindel's heart lifted as he recognised him, and a lump came to his throat. He came forward into the light. "Elrohir my dear friend. And is that Elladan?" The other figure also threw back his hood to reveal an identical face, and said,

"We have been looking for you for weeks." They kept their voices low, hardly above the sound of a breath.

"Only weeks? I thought I had covered my tracks better than that," said Glorfindel.

"You covered them all too well. We shan't bore you with the tedious tale of our search. Cirdan told us that you might be found here. Unfortunately, in the way of the foresighted, he just mentioned a hill in the north at dusk, or some such." said Elladan. His brother gave a dry laugh, and said,

"Have you any idea how many hills there are up here? I think we have been up and down every one of them, before we saw the smoke from your fire. Do you want some dinner?" He opened his cloak, and drew two dead rabbits from his belt.

Glorfindel shook his head, for he ate little these days, barely enough to stop his soul from fleeing his body for Namo's quiet halls.

The twins settled to skinning and gutting the rabbits. Elrohir took the offal away from the fire and buried it, while his brother butchered the meat, and threaded it onto green wood skewers with quiet efficiency. Soon they all sat companionably, side by side, holding the meat above the heart of the fire. The delicious scent of roasting rabbit filled the air.

Glorfindel felt something hard and blighted inside him start to open, like a flower bud in spring, in the warmth of the company of two of his oldest friends.

"I do believe a frost is falling in this Valar-foresaken northland," said Elrohir, blowing out his breath, and watching it steam in the still air. "And it's barely autumn." He reached under his cloak for a flask. "Here's something to warm you up, Glorfindel. You certainly look like you need it. In fact, if you don't mind my saying so, you look positively ill."

Glorfindel took the flask, knowing it would be Miruvor, and little wanting the surge of warmth and life it would bring. Still he drank a little of it, because not to do so would invite comment. A question occurred to him.

"Where are your horses? You never travel on foot," he asked.

"Tethered below. We knew you would vanish if you heard them. We'd better not leave them there, though. There are wolves about."

"Why have you sought me out now?"

"Sought you now? We have been searching for you for sixty years on and off. We've hunted high and low. Where did you go?"

"South for a while. Far beyond the lands our folk usually tread. Then North, when the company tired me."

"Well if Cirdan or Mithrandir knew where you were, they wouldn't say till now. Nor did Father know your whereabouts."

"Oh?"

"Yes. In fact we have come with a message for you. You are to return to our father's house. Why did you leave anyway? No-one knew why you had gone."

"Elrond did."

"Well he wouldn't say. Still. It's your business I suppose." Glorfindel, basking in the unexpected companionship, suddenly felt that he was accepted under false pretences. To leave his friends thinking he was an honourable man was, under the circumstances, ignoble. He saw in his mind how they might turn from him in disgust as he spoke, and ride away from him, sickened by his depravity. He steeled himself.

"No. I'll tell you." They waited expectantly, and who could blame Glorfindel for seeking for the most sympathetic phrases to explain himself. In the end, words failed him, and he said bluntly,

"I fell in love with Estel." There was no need to say more. He did not want to impugn Estel's reputation by implying he might have reciprocated. A vision of Estel waiting expectantly in the starlit dusk of a cornfield came to him with painful intensity."

"Oh, That. We knew about it. Well guessed anyway. Is that all? I still don't see why you stayed away so long." said Elrohir.

Of course, thought Glorfindel, he wouldn't. The twins' lives had no room for love, and its vicissitudes were unknown to them. Still, his secret was out now, and he had not been repulsed.

"Why does he want me to return?" he asked,

"Mithrandir got excited about a ring that one of the Periannath had found. He feared it might be _the_ Ring. You know, the one that caused Isildur's trouble? He disappeared off months ago to do some research, and hasn't been seen since."

Elladan added,

"What's more, Sauron is on the move. Osgiliath has already fallen. I think that Father has foreseen something more, but he's not speaking of that either."

"We have wasted long enough looking for you. We should set off tonight," added his brother. "The horses may not be able to see by starlight, but we can guide them."

Glorfindel, so long absent from the hurly burly of the world, felt himself being swept along by a tide he was powerless to fight, and he was still bemused as he followed the brothers down the hill to where two horses, white geldings as always, stamped and blew in the shadows.

"You take that one," indicated Elrohir, as he and Elladan mounted the other, sitting close as lovers on the embroidered saddle blanket. Glorfindel obediently mounted, and they set off across the dark hills, with a jingle of harness.

There was something pleasant in riding by starlight again. Elrohir and Elladan were easy company, asking for little in the way of conversation. They travelled both by day and night, stopping only to rest and feed the horses, which being elven bred and trained, had a stamina beyond their kind.

So it was that in autumn, as the birch leaves turned to gold, and fell, Glorfindel, heartsick and tired, returned to Imladris after an exile of nearly seventy years. And strange it felt to be returning to that place, for that summer, when he had loved Estel had taken on jewelled tints as it receded into the past, until in the end it seemed to him as precious and unattainable as a beautiful enamel, locked in glass.


	2. Chapter 2

The descent into Rivendell from the North was the strangest home-coming Glorfindel had known. The path descended from the heather-purple fells into the top of the valley, following a tributary stream of the Bruinen. The brambles in the shelter of the shallow cleft were beaded with ripe blackberries. A twisted rowan leaned over the tumbling water, laden with clusters of fire-red fruit. Normally Glorfindel would have joyed in the beauty of the season. Now his heart misgave him. Even the familiar autumn scents of the trees as their leaves began to turn to gold failed to move him.

He watched the strong backs of the twins, crossed by baldrics, sway in time to the horse's weary plod. Both wore their swords on their backs so as not foul the horse's traces, and the slant of the scabbards with the hilts rising behind their left ears made a pleasing symmetry. After his confession to them, neither he nor they had mentioned Estel, with the result that he had no idea if he were likely to be in Rivendell or not. He both yearned for and feared a meeting. The yearning was as familiar as an old friend. But the fear was something new. Over the years, as he had worried at the scab of his memories of that summer with Estel, he had been buoyed by the thought that it could all have turned out well, if only he had said or done something slightly differently. And deep down was a little self-deception that it still might, if they met again.

Every bend in the path brought a new memory of Estel, and as they approached each turn, Glorfindel found his heart quiver with hope that they might round it and find him there, only for his hope to be dashed as another beautiful, empty vista was revealed.

The shadows were lengthening as they neared the house, and they became aware that the valley was unusually quiet. Still were the voices of folk as they went about their labour, and only the songs of the foaming streams and the wind rushing in the trees were to be heard. The twins looked one to the other, and Elladan, sitting behind, said into his brother's ear, "Something's happened." Elrohir nodded, and picked up the pace, and Glorfindel, following behind, reluctantly did so too.

-0-

When they entered Elrond's house, the place was in uproar. Lindir dashed past, his arms full of packages of food. Some of Arwen's ladies followed him, laden with piles of clothing. Lindir merely said, as he rushed past, "Oh good. You're back. Elrond wants to see you at once," which was far from the standard welcome for travellers to Imladris, especially ones so long away as Glorfindel. His heart sank further, for this was an interview he would as soon forego.

They squeezed past the hurrying throng, and slipped into Elrond's chamber, still with the dirt of the road on them. Elrond was speaking to a grim faced and weather-beaten Man, who also bore the signs of hard journeying on his clothing and flesh. Gildor was there too. Elrond was saying, "…and Gildor brings us grave news…" He saw the new arrivals, and nodded at them and said, "You are in the nick of time! This is Halbarad of the Dúnedain." He indicated the Man.

Gildor then spoke; "As I and my company travelled through the Shire, on our way from Elostirion, we came upon a party of three of those we call Periannath, or halflings, sheltering by the road side. One of them we recognised as Frodo Baggins, nephew of Bilbo, who has made his home here. They spoke of Black Riders on the road, and our hearts quailed, for we guessed of what they spoke. And though Frodo Baggins told us little of his quest, we knew it must be of great moment, if the Enemy had sent one of the Nine to pursue him. The halfling said too that they had expected Mithrandir to join them, and he had not arrived."

"When was this?" asked Elrond.

"Fourteen nights ago. We have made what haste we could to bring you the news, but the road is long, and we were on foot."

Elrond said, "This is bad news indeed. The halflings are abroad, bearing such a burden as the great ones of this house would fear to carry. And even more alarming is it that Mithrandir has failed to join them. We have heard naught from him since spring, when he last left here to travel to the Shire."

"What burden is this?" asked Glorfindel.

"Isildur's Bane." Glorfindel felt a great horror rise in him at that fell name. "It has been found?" he asked, thinking of their counsels of old, when they had taken great comfort in Sauron's weakness without his Ring.

"Yes, Mithrandir came to us in the spring and said that it was in the hands of the halfling, Frodo Baggins. There is a tale of the finding, but there is not time to tell it here."

Gildor looked grim at this news, and said, "I wish that I had known this when I met Frodo. We should not have then left him and his friends alone, though he did not take our road. I thought I acted for the best in hastening to bring you the news. Now I fear I made a terrible mistake."

Elrond put his hand on Gildor's shoulder, and said, "We all of us feel that we have made mistakes, in this matter and others. It does not do to dwell on them, lest we fall into darkness. All we can do is decide on the best course of action from here on." He turned to the Dúnadan and said, "Your arrival is most timely – and welcome."

Halbarad then said, "Two nights ago I was camped on the high fells to the north of the road from Bree, when I saw in the sky, far to the south, many great flashes of light. Not lightning, for the sky was clear. It seemed to me that it was a sign of great battle. I fear it means nothing good. This is why I have come here to take your counsel and offer my aid. "

Elrond said, "There are few with that power. It may have been Mithrandir. And if it was he, he was assailed. This is more bad news. We must send out all aid we have at our disposal, to find the halflings, and to help Mithrandir. And we have no news of Estel." Glorfindel's heart leapt stupidly at the name. Elrond was still speaking, "He too must be found, and brought to safety. There are few enough here who can ride against any of the Nine. And where one wraith is, there may the others be found. Glorfindel, you take the road east, for it is on or near there that the halflings are most likely to be. Elladan and Gildor, you go south, for we do not know how far from the road they have been driven. Elrohir, and Halbarad, search north. We have little time. You must set out today. I have already ordered preparations to be made."

Thus dismissed, everyone made to leave the room. Glorfindel had stood with the rest, but Elrond said, "Glorfindel. A moment!" He waited, his heart sinking, for he expected hard words from his old friend.

As the door closed behind the others, Elrond moved to his desk, where stood a flagon, and several glasses. It said much for the urgency of the meeting just concluded that Elrond had forgotten his usual hospitality, and failed to offer refreshment to his guests.

He took his time in pouring two full glasses, and seemed to pay undue attention to making sure that both were equally filled. It occurred to Glorfindel that perhaps Elrond also dreaded this meeting. When he looked up, he said simply, "I have missed you, old friend."

"I have missed you too, Elrond. But I did not expect you to speak so fair to me."

"Much has been done that I wish had not." He picked at the braided embroidery on the cuff of his under-robe, as if unable to continue. Then without preliminaries he said, "Estel is betrothed to Arwen."

A knife twisted deep in Glorfindel's vitals at these words, though in his heart he already had the bitter memory of Estel's meeting with Arwen on the bridge. And he had always known that a Man would not be likely to wait long to replace a boyhood infatuation.

Elrond continued, "I can see that this causes you pain. And indeed, I have had my own full measure of it. Arwen will take the mortal path from this world if she marries him." Elrond's fair face worked, and Glorfindel realised that the stern master of Imladris was fighting tears. The unaccustomed sight unmanned him, and tears of his own came to his eyes, as he stepped to take his friend in his arms and comfort him.

After a moment, Elrond broke away, and dashed away his tears. He continued, his voice broken, "I should not have interfered. Now I have my just reward." Glorfindel remembered then the doom of the Peredhil, for Elrond could no longer choose to follow his daughter to whatever followed mortal death, and even if the choice had still been his, Celebrian waited for him already in Aman.

But bitter was the thought that Elrond had repented of his words to Glorfindel, for they had played no small part in his fortunes that summer so long before.


	3. Chapter 3

Glorfindel obeyed Elrond's orders without question, and let himself be whirled from his long solitude into the surging stream of the great events of the world, as powerless as a leaf in the current of the stream that tosses it hither and thither.

His departure from Rivendell was as hurried and unceremonious as his arrival. All had gathered at the main door of the house. Elves from the kitchens hurried up with bread and fruit for the travellers, as well as provisions for the journey. Those who were leaving ate and drank hastily, standing at the door.

Lindir had prepared five horses for the scouts, and he brought them right up to the house, heedless for once of the damage to the lawns from their hooves, and the nuisance of their droppings. Unusually, all five horses were saddled.

Elrohir and Elladan mounted a pair of bays, for their favourite black geldings would need rest after their long journey from the north, and double burden. Lindir led a white gelding to Glorfindel's side. The horse's coat gleamed in the gathering shadows. Lindir murmured, "His name is Asfaloth. He will bear you well. He is saddled, for if your search is successful, I do not know whom he will have to carry."

"Lindir, old friend. Thank you." Glorfindel clasped Lindir's shoulder, but there was no time for more conversation. Part of Glorfindel was glad to have an excuse to escape awkward questions.

-0-

The scouts journeyed to the Ford of Bruinen together. They spoke little, for the gravity of the journey seemed to weigh heavily on their hearts. It was past midnight when they splashed through the stony shallows and onto the Road. With a word of farewell, Elrohir and Halbarad turned their horses and in single file took a narrow path that lead upwards onto the fells. Soon even the sound of tumbling stones dislodged by the passage of the horses' shod feet disappeared. Elladan and Gildor soon left the east road to follow an ancient road, now little more than a green track that led south. Glorfindel, alone again, surveyed the dark empty road ahead.

In many ways it was a relief to be on his own, even on such a terrible quest, for it gave him some time with his tumultuous thoughts. For underneath his fear for the safety of the Ring Bearer and his companions was a peculiar excitement in now searching for Estel, whom he had travelled so far to avoid for nearly seven decades.

-0-

For the next four days Glorfindel scanned the surrounding lands both by day and night for smoke or other sign, but he saw evidence neither of those he sought, nor of those fell riders who sought them. Even the wild creatures that lived in that country seemed to shun the road, and the land around it, as if a shadow lay on the land, and their usual night cries were silent.

Asfaloth was pleasant and undemanding company. After four days they were firm friends. And although it felt strange to Glorfindel to have the bulk of the saddle between his flesh and the horse's, Asfaloth seemed well used to it. Glorfindel was accustomed to controlling a horse solely by the pressure of his thighs, and a few words and touches, but Asfaloth was wearing a painted headstall of decorative design, both jewelled and belled. More suitable for a lady's pleasure ride than for a clandestine search and rescue, he mused. Reins were attached, but they lay unused across the horse's neck. There was no bit though, for no elf would subject a horse to the pain and indignity of a harsh metal strip in his soft mouth.

He approached the River Mitheithel as the grey afternoon wore into a misty evening. Here dreary hills pressed in on either side of the road. A brooding oppression fell on his spirits, and Asfaloth tossed his head, and shied. So he was not surprised, when the old stone bridge came into view, to see three mounted dark figures, robed and hooded. It seemed a little darker round them, as if they drew the darkness and mist from the air and gathered it to them. Their black horses rolled their eyes madly, and tore at their bits until blood ran from their mouths. He could sense that his old foe, the Witch King himself, greatest of the Nine, was not among them.

His blood surged in his veins at the prospect of the meeting. With the slightest of pressure of his knees he urged Asfaloth to a gallop. The valiant beast overcame his fear for love of his rider, and surged forward. The wind of their passage threw the hood from Glorfindel's head, and though the light was dying, and the shadows pressing closer, it seemed as if a last shaft of sunlight from the West had caught his golden hair, and lit both him and the white coat of the horse. The poor mad beasts of the Nazgúl were no match for him, with the light of Aman shining forth from him, and they reared and fled westwards, and it said something for the cruel horsemanship of their riders that they stayed seated.

Asfaloth danced and sidled on the brow of the bridge, and as Glorfindel gentled the sleek neck, he felt the great pulse beat quick against his palm, and he murmured, as if to a frightened child, "Shh. There you go my brave friend. It's all right now. They've gone."

As he quieted the horse, Glorfindel realised that there was no other way to cross this river, from the narrow rivulets of its source, high in the Misty Mountains to the north, to its joining with the Bruinen, far to the South, where the Dúnadain kept a ferryboat. Those he sought would need to pass over this bridge. He thought then to leave a sign, since his presence on the road was already no secret from the enemy. He took the clasp from the shoulder of his cloak. It was a pale green beryl in a gold setting of intricate workmanship, and would be of obviously elven making to any who found it. It might even be recognised by Estel, for Glorfindel had worn it much that summer in Imladris. He dismounted and stooping, laid it in the dust of the bridge, in the centre, where it would be hard to overlook. He felt a frisson of pleasure at leaving such a clear message for Estel.

-0-

So it was that by mid-morning four days later, Glorfindel found himself outside the village of Bree. He had still found no sign of the hobbits, or Estel, or Gandalf on the road, and his alarm was increasing. Now he sought some concrete information as to their whereabouts, or he was destined to wander fruitlessly in the wilds for days, and time was already short. Asfaloth he had left on the green Downs outside the village, not wanting the comment the elven horse would excite.

By strength of will, he made himself unnoticed by curious eyes as he passed the gate. The buildings of the town huddled together, as if sheltering for warmth against the hills that rose behind them like a green wall. Glorfindel pressed his scented sleeve against his nose against the stench from the middens and cesspits, and picked his way through the mud – and worse, of the road. As he stood, wondering which way to take, he felt a tugging at his cloak. He looked down. A small, grubby child, with piercing blue eyes, was looking up into his face. The urchin said, "Are you a fairy Mister?" Trust a child to penetrate the glamour he had thrown over himself. He smiled into the round eyes, and said kindly, "Yes, I am, of a sort. Tell me, child, where would a traveller go who wanted news?" The child indicated a half-timbered building, and said, "The Prancing Pony, Mister. They all goes there." Glorfindel could make out a faded sign bearing a crude picture of a rearing horse. He smiled at the little boy, and placing his hand on the brown curls, called the blessing of Varda Elentári upon him.

-0-

In all his long life, he had never frequented such a rustic establishment as the Prancing Pony. He pushed into the warm moist fug, smelling of smoke from the fire, and

pipeweed, and the sweat of the farmers. To his surprise, the dimly lit inn was already crowded with Men and Hobbits, and the uproar was astonishing. Several men looked up as he entered, still hooded and cloaked, and although they let him pass as he made his way to the bar, they pressed close behind him, in a threatening fashion.

Behind the bar bustled a round-faced man, of late middle age, in a large white apron.

"Now then, good sir," he began a little pugnaciously, "will you be letting us see your face then?"

Glorfindel drew back his hood just a little, cautious of revealing himself in such a setting, and making sure that the rest of the room still could not see his face. The publican's bellicose expression crumpled into embarrassment for although he had travelled little himself, a whole world of travellers had crossed his threshold, and he recognised one of the Firstborn, on the rare occasion that they came here.

"Oh, sir, I'm so sorry. We've had such a lot of trouble these last few days. We've learned to be suspicious of those who hide their faces. Forgive me. What can I do for you?" Then he added to the cluster of Men crowding Glorfindel. "It's all right. You can go back to your drinks. He's all right, he is. He's no Black Rider."

"I would like to speak with you privately," said Glorfindel.

"Yes, of course. Follow me."

Glorfindel followed him into what appeared to serve as both store-room and office. Sacks of grains and flours lay on the floor. The air smelt of the new crop of apples, packed carefully in straw-lined crates. Several fragrant half-cured leaves of pipeweed lay on the desk. Butterbur rummaged in a wine rack on the corner, and came up with a dusty bottle, and two glasses.

"Perhaps you would like some refreshment?" Glorfindel could ride for weeks without food, and days without drink, and bear the discomfort with a cheerful face, but he could see that the label was of one of the finest Dorwinion vintages in recent years, so he sat down in the proffered chair. Butterbur's tongue was running away with him as he uncorked the bottle and poured the wine.

"Such goings on, we've had here this last fortnight. You wouldn't believe. Rangers and hobbits and Black Riders. It's been enough excitement to last us this Age. All their horses ran off too, and I had to pay them for the loss. That Ranger, too. Not much better than those Black Riders, if you ask me. I don't think it's right, a man like him taking up with those hobbits. I could tell they didn't know what they were letting themselves in for." Glorfindel pricked up his ears at this, but held his peace.

Butterbur passed a glass to Glorfindel, who put back his hood and held it up. It glinted like red jewels in the light from the oil lamps. He inhaled the scent. It held the memory of a hot sweet summer, some seventy years earlier, with its fragrances of blackcurrant and cedar preserved in the liquid.

Glorfindel suddenly became aware that Butterbur was staring at him, mouth hanging open.

"You don't see many of my kind here then? He smiled kindly at the man.

"No. Never. Not at all. Dwarves, Hobbits, Wizards, Men from all parts, but few Elves. They keep themselves to themselves, if they pass through. And none were like you." Butterbur dropped his eyes, but it looked like an effort.

"Speaking of which. I believe it is about these hobbits and wizards that I wish to hear."

Butterbur recounted the story in his rambling fashion, while Glorfindel questioned him about the more confused bits. In the end he understood that the hobbits had left with Aragorn two weeks previously, and Mithrandir himself had been only a day behind them. His heart lifted at this unexpected news. The odds suddenly seemed to have turned in his favour.

"Do you know which way they headed?" he asked.

Butterbur shook his head, his fat jowls wobbling slightly. But, thought Glorfindel, there was no other haven within a month's journey but Rivendell, was there? So if he hadn't met them on the road, they must be journeying across country, perhaps hiding by day, and travelling by night.

"Is it all right?" asked Butterbur anxiously, when Glorfindel still didn't drink his wine.

"Oh yes," sighed Glorfindel, " Your taste in wines is second to none. I rarely get to drink a vintage this fine. Even in times as dark as these, there are some pleasures to be had." He touched his lips to the rim of the glass, and let the wine roll over his tongue, wondering how this fat old inn keeper managed to get better wines than Elrond.

"Can't go wrong with a good Dorwinion I always say. And it's not often I have a guest who appreciates it."

Butterbur filled his own glass again. "You will want a room for the night?"

"Alas, no. My road is onward, and I cannot delay. I fear I have already spent too long here. Perhaps I might take some grain for my horse?" He himself could travel on low provisions for many days, but Asfaloth, being but a beast, would run better if well fed.

"Yes, of course, anything you require sir," said Butterbur, and filled Glorfindel's leather bag himself from one of the open grain sacks. "And I'll get one of the girls to put together some fresh provisions for you. I know how dreary hardtack and jerky can be." He went to the door and shouted "Columbine!" A plump, comely maiden, dressed in a russet kirtle and apron as snowy as Butterbur's own, appeared blushing in the doorway, and curtseyed there.

"Pack up provisions would you. Enough fresh food for a week at least. And stop gawping. Anyone would think you'd never seen an Elf before." Columbine, overcome with confusion, threw her apron over her head, and peeping from its folds, left with apparent reluctance.

Glorfindel finished his wine, glancing at the still half-full bottle with some regret. Reaching into his pouch he drew out some gold coins, and pressed them into Butterbur's not entirely reluctant hand. He drew up his hood again, and swept out into the muddy village street.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Glorfindel reached the downs, the sun was setting behind the hills, and the early autumn dusk was already drawing in. The tops of the trees were still tinged with a copper glow as the last rays of the sun slipped under a thick canopy of cloud. The only sound was the horse tearing the last of the summer grass. Asfaloth came at his whistle, his white coat glimmering in the twilight. Glorfindel felt the horse's velvet nose touch his cheek, and a gust of hot, grass-scented horse breath stirred his hair. He stroked the horse's nose, and whispered endearments to him.

They descended the steep slopes of the downs side by side, but Glorfindel did not need to lead the horse. At the road, he mounted, and urged the horse to a walk. If the travellers were concealed in the wilderness, then he had little hope of tracking them after two weeks. His best hope was to try and intercept them when they had to return to the road, and that, at the soonest, meant the Last Bridge.

His heart filled with dread, for suddenly the chance that Estel and the Ring Bearer would escape their pursuers seemed slender indeed. And if they did not, then would the Ring be once again on Sauron's finger, and the battle for Middle Earth lost before it had even begun. And Estel too would be a prize beyond measure to the Enemy. Glorfindel's busy imagination supplied vivid pictures of torment, punishment for the humiliation Sauron had suffered at the hands of Estel's forefather, Isildur. Then in his mind's eye, he saw the Nazgúl at Sauron's shoulder, as he sat on a great throne that seemed to be formed of the bones of Men. Estel knelt at the great black knee. Then Sauron tore the ring of gold from the finger of the Witch King himself, and forced it onto Estel's hand. The screams of the heir of Isildur and the shrieks of the dispossessed Nazgúl rent the air.

Glorfindel shook himself, to free himself of the power of the vision, hoping past hope that it had not been a prophecy. The night began to clear, and the half moon appeared between scudding shreds of cloud. Asfaloth at a word broke into a ground-eating canter, now that the light was enough to make out the road. Here, near the villages of Combe and Archet, the way was well worn, and rutted by farm carts. All could be lost if Asfaloth sprained a fetlock, or injured a tendon now.

The horse cantered smoothly, and Glorfindel began to enjoy the ride, despite his anxiety as the wind of his passing blew the last of the smoke of Bree from his cloak and hair. At last a grey dawn came, and Glorfindel dismounted by a stream that descended from the hills to the north of the road, to rest the horse. He himself could have travelled night and day, but the horse though was mortal, and in need of rest, food and drink.

-0-

It was two days of hard riding before Glorfindel found himself nearing the Last Bridge in the late afternoon. In the distance dark clouds hung over the hills of the Ettenmoors, and grey veils of rain fell from them. It had been raining in the valley too, and the road underfoot was miry, but the horse was sure-footed, even after many days of journeying. A mile or so before the bridge, he came upon footprints in the mud of the road. He dismounted, to look more closely and to his joy, there were several clear prints from a pair of boots, hoof prints from a shod pony, and even better, a number of different tracks from large, bare feet. Clearly he was now on the trail of his quarry. After the initial exhilaration faded, it occurred to him that only one set of boots meant that Mithrandir had still not met up with the others, and his anxiety rose again.

He followed the trail onto the bridge on foot, not wanting to lose it in the darkening evening. The beryl he had dropped had gone, he hoped into the right hands. Over the bridge, the footprints went for another mile so, before they veered off into a narrow ravine on the north side of the road. It was hard to tell how old the footprints were, but it was now six days since he had driven the three Black Riders from the bridge. He might not be able to track Estel and the hobbits in the wild country, especially since Estel was elven reared, and his skills in concealment fell little short of the firstborn, who could hide in plain sight, and not be found. Estel would have to rejoin the Road before the Fords of Bruinen, and Glorfindel thought that the Nazgúl, who he could not sense nearby, would also recognise that as the best place for an ambush. He remounted, and with a touch, brought Asfaloth to a trot.

It was the following day when he picked up the tracks again, now clearly following the road. The road here wound through the empty hills, purple with heather. Gorse bushes, still scattered with the occasional incongruous yellow flower grew on the banks which here rose high on either side. Glorfindel was ever more alert, as the land closed in around him and the light began to leave the sky.

Suddenly, he was aware of a flicker of movement amongst the sparse yellowing leaves of a hazel copse on the hillside above him. It was not the wind. Something was concealed there. He reined in his horse, and swinging his leg over the saddle, jumped to the ground, to investigate. As he did so, a man burst from the thicket, and leaped down the slope towards the road shouting joyfully. There was something very familiar about the way the figure moved. Suddenly he realised that it was Estel, and joy and pain trembled in Glorfindel's heart.

"Ah, at last, Dúnadan! Well met!" he cried in Sindarin, and, forgetting his dignity in the joy of seeing Estel again, he hastened through the knee-high heather towards him. As they met on the hillside, both suddenly drew back from the expected embrace, as if remembering themselves.

It hadn't occurred to Glorfindel that Estel would have aged, for in his mind's eye, he had remained a boy. What he saw shocked him. Gone was the boy with the beauty of the Eldar. Under the dirt of the road he could see that Estel's face had hardened. Fine lines were drawn round his eyes, and deep furrows ran from his nose to the corners of his harsh mouth. His body had thickened with muscle, too, and worst of all, coarse whiskers sprang from his cheeks, chin and neck But most disconcertingly, the clear grey eyes that looked at him out of that ruined face were those of the beautiful youth he had loved, that enchanted summer in Imladris, and Glorfindel's heart broke anew, for this man, Aragorn, seemed a stranger.

"Oh Glorfindel, I am so pleased to see you, " said Estel. His voice had roughened with the passage of the years, but was still recognisable. Something quivered in Glorfindel, but Estel continued, "I was beginning to think we would not reach Rivendell."

So, he thought, Estel was only glad for his strength and power, and nothing else. It was hard to understand the disappointment he felt, since this man was a stranger. He schooled his features into an expression of indifference, for he had a task to complete that was greater than his own woes, and said, "We may not yet. The Nine are abroad and may well hold the Ford against us. I was afraid I would miss you, and you would be left to face the Nine alone."

Estel looked grim. "We have faced five already, twelve nights ago. And the Ring Bearer was sorely wounded."

"That is ill news indeed. Let me look at him." Estel beckoned to the copse of hazel where he had hidden, and Glorfindel watched as four halflings and one heavily laden brown pony scrambled down the hillside.

Frodo suddenly clutched his shoulder, went ash white, and fainted. Glorfindel, with quick reflexes, caught him in his arms as he fell, and laid him gently on the heather, his self-indulgent reflections forgotten. Already he could see that the hobbit was being drawn into the shadow-world of the wraiths. To his dismay, Frodo's fëa was shivering in that dismal place, its link to his body increasingly frail. In the world of flesh, the hobbit's small body felt icy to his touch, even through his garments and he could sense the creeping chill inside his left shoulder.

Estel told the tale of their narrow escape on Weathertop, and held out the hilt of the blade that had made the wound. As his fingers touched the metal, Glorfindel felt the same bone-deep, creeping coldness touch his own flesh. He shuddered, and returned the blade to Estel.

"Touch it as little as possible," he said, and began to open Frodo's jacket. As he unfastened the waistcoat, his fingers brushed over something hard and circular, concealed in a pocket. He drew in a sharp breath, knowing instantly what it was he felt there. Isildur's bane. And it was under his very fingers. He drew back at once, for he could feel the lure of the Ring, hidden only by a layer of cloth. A vision of himself leading the last of the exiled Noldor back to Aman, came into his head. How fair he was. How golden his hair. Manwë himself would be grateful for the intervention of one as great as he. Fëanor would be released from Mandos's Halls, and Estel would kneel at his feet.

Suddenly he recognised the wrongness of the vision, and drew back from the Ring. Long ago, he had talked to Mithrandir about Isildur's weakness, exclaiming that surely he would be able to resist its power. He could still see Mithrandir's eyes, sad and wise, as he had said, "Glorfindel,_ I_ would not have the power to resist its blandishments for long myself. So even you can be deceived and the greater your arrogance, the less likely you will be to able to withstand it."

He took care then not to touch that pocket again, though still he could hear the ring calling to him, with its promise of love fulfilled, and the forgiveness of the Valar.

Under the waistcoat, Frodo's shirt was torn and stained with blood and other fouler fluids, which had leaked from the torn flesh. The wound still looked raw and angry against the bloodless skin. After twelve days, it had not even begun to heal.

Glorfindel laid his fingers against the wound, and again felt that deadly chill creep into his flesh. In the wraith world, he was aware he shone with a white flame, and he struggled to bring Frodo's fëa back into his body. Though it yearned blindly towards his warmth, like a moth to a flame, it was lost and confused, and could not find the way back, even with his help. When he stood up, he knew he had not been fully successful. But a little colour had returned to Frodo's face, and he sat up, although still weak.

"I regret I am more a warrior than a healer," said Glorfindel, "We must get you to

Rivendell as quickly as possible, Frodo Baggins. Elrond's skills are greater by far than mine. You shall ride Asfaloth. If danger approaches, he will carry you to safety."

"I do not wish to be carried away from my friends, seeking safety while they face danger."

"You are carrying a burden that must be kept from the hands of our pursuers. And your friends' danger would lessen if you weren't with them."

"Come on Frodo. Now is not the time for stubbornness. You are grievously wounded, and likely to fall from Bill," added Aragorn.

"Unlike your pony, Asfaloth will not let you fall if you faint again," added Glorfindel. He felt a sudden closeness to this new, strange Aragorn, arguing with Frodo together. You could injure yourself further if you fell and none were on hand to catch you."

It took some persuasion before Frodo would agree, weak as he was. Glorfindel bent and shortened the stirrups up to the saddle skirts. The others packed as much of their travel gear as they could onto the pony, Bill. It was fortunate, he thought to himself, that Lindir, in his wisdom, had equipped Asfaloth with a saddle, for the halfling would never have stayed mounted on an elven blanket. They set off on the last weary part of the journey to Imladris.


	5. Chapter 5

They travelled along the dark road in the silence of their own thoughts. Cloud was low in the sky, and even the stars were hidden. "This night's as dark as the inside of my pocket," Glorfindel heard Merry grumble breathlessly from behind him. It was obvious he had forgotten the keenness of elven hearing and thought he spoke low enough not to be overheard. There was the clatter of a loose rock bouncing into the ditch, and a few muttered curses, also from Merry. "Ow, my toe," he moaned.

Glorfindel turned, exasperated, and could see him in the gloom, hopping on one foot, clutching the other. Estel clasped Merry's shoulder, to help him keep his balance, and asked, "Is it bad Merry?"

"No, no, "groaned the hobbit. "I'll be all right, Strider. Just let me get my breath."

It was with relief that Glorfindel led them onwards again, for another injury would have slowed them down and put them in even greater peril. At first, he had set a punishing pace, but after Merry's outburst, he slowed his speed to suit their shorter legs, and poor night vision. He walked at Asfaloth's head, keeping an anxious eye on Frodo, who sat hunched over on the horse, as if to protect his wound, though Asfaloth's gait was very smooth. Frodo said little, lost in pain and fear. The thought that he might be overcome before they reached Rivendell alarmed Glorfindel, for he did not know who else of the party would be suited to carry the Ring.

Estel was bringing up the rear, and Glorfindel was acutely aware of his nearness. His thoughts ran free in the rhythm of walking, and turned constantly to this older Estel. It seemed he had grown into a skilful Ranger; to have hidden the Ring Bearer in the Wilderness for so long took great ability. He was a doughty warrior too, from his tale of their journey from Bree. Glorfindel was happy to have him at his back, though he could feel the Man's gaze on him, like a finger between his shoulder blades. There was so much he wished to say, and it was irksome to have to keep his conversation to the trivia of their journey. And he shrank from such speech when he was no longer sure how he wished it to conclude.

Glorfindel could hear Estel encouraging the halflings to keep up their pace. Weary though he could see that his companions were, he did not allow them to stop until the sky in the east began to grey. When they came to a small rill trickling from the fells into a ditch by the roadside, he called a halt. The halflings threw themselves exhausted onto the heather. Aragorn's shoulders slumped too, and Glorfindel could see that his anxiety for Frodo, and the strain of evading their pursuers had taken its toll. After all, the future of the whole of Middle Earth had rested on this one Man's shoulders for three weeks.

Merry was examining his feet. Glorfindel, who in all his long life had never before met one of the Periannath, thought they were unduly large for his size, and unduly hairy too.

"I thought that stone was sharp," Merry was saying to Pippin, "Look, blood." He displayed his foot to his friend.

"That's nothing," Pippin replied, spreading his toes, "I've got blisters you could set up camp in."

"Let me see your wounds, " said Glorfindel, upbraiding himself for worrying only about Frodo, and forgetting that the others might find the road harder than he. "Infection may set in if they are not treated. And we have many miles yet to go." He opened the leather pouch he carried on his belt, and drew out a pot of unguent. "This will help the sores heal. But first you must wash your feet." Pippin and Merry trooped over to where the rivulet tumbled over a lip of rock into a tiny pool.

Sam lingered to fuss round Frodo who had slid from the horse, and lay huddled in his blanket, his misery palpable. Estel put his arm round Frodo's shoulders, and lifted him to a sitting position. He shooed Sam away saying, "I'll look after him, Sam, You go and tend to your feet with the others. You have journeyed hard too."

"What he needs is a nice cup of tea, Strider. Something to put a bit of heart into him," said Sam, but he did as he was asked.

Frodo shifted uncomfortably in his arms. "Strider, I'm so cold. I can't feel my arm any more," he whispered.

"I know. You must fight the cold every step of the way." Estel murmured.

Glorfindel crouched beside them, and taking a silver flask from his hip, passed it to Estel, saying "Miruvor. I can think of no better time for it than now. And it's better than tea. This will give you a little strength Frodo, until I can get you to Elrond's care."

Estel opened the stopper, and sniffed, "You have only to smell the fragrance of miruvor to know that it will do you good," he said, and pressed rim of the flask gently against Frodo's colourless lips. The hobbit took a sip, then sighed, and his shivering frame relaxed in Estel's arms. He smiled wanly, and closed his eyes.

Estel looked up from Frodo's face into Glorfindel's. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, then thought better of it, and lowering Frodo gently to the ground, hastened over to the others. From the streamlet came the sound of splashing, and muffled laughter. "Ow, you rascal. I'm going to get you. You've soaked my weskit." Pippin's clear voice carried in the still dawn air.

Glorfindel turned in surprise, to see the three hobbits playing a childish game of flicking water at each other. Did they have no sense of the gravity of their situation, he wondered. But Estel was intervening. "Shh Pippin. The Black Riders will hear you." Pippin's face took on an almost comical expression of dismay "Come on the rest of you. Dry your feet, and let Glorfindel see to them."

The chastened hobbits made their way to Glorfindel, and sat expectantly on clumps of heather at his feet. He took out a dab of the ointment, not wishing to soil the pot with dirt from the hobbits' visibly grubby fingers, and applied it to their blisters and cuts, saying, "You must tell me if these injuries pain you. Inspect them each time we stop, and if there is any redness round them, or swelling, let me know immediately." He realised then from their expressions that they were so much in awe of him that they feared to speak. He smiled at them and added, "I won't bite you."

It was Pippin who replied, "Of course not, Lord Glorfindel. "

"Please. I am just Glorfindel. We of Rivendell do not call each other Lord or Lady, nor do we expect any others to do so. Save only Elrond, whom we call Master. But that is much less than his due." The hobbits nodded bashfully, and made their way to Bill the pony, who was patiently cropping the tough moorland grass, still laden with packs.

"There is grain in my pack for the horses, " said Glorfindel, "if you would put some on the ground for them."

"Bill 'as a nosebag he likes, Lord Glorfindel," said Sam, unloading Bill, and pulling it out of one of the packs. "He wouldn't mind a bit of grain in it. The grass is poor stuff."

In the end, the horses did better than the other folk. Glorfindel and Estel would not allow a fire to be lit, for the rising smoke would be like a beacon to their pursuers. Estel's party had little food left, so they had some of Glorfindel's provisions from Bree: bread, a little stale now, apples, cheese and carrots. Out of the corner of his eye, Glorfindel saw Sam feeding his apple and carrot to Bill. Asfaloth got some too, and was not too haughty to accept tit-bits from the hobbit, but arched his neck gracefully, and shook his silken mane in thanks.

Glorfindel had intended to watch alone and allow the rest of the party to sleep in the heather. But as the hobbits rolled themselves in cloaks and blankets, and fell into an exhausted sleep, Estel came and sat by him. "The hobbits may seem to you like children," he said, "But they're not. They are men grown, all four of them. Their games are just their way of putting aside the dread in their hearts."

Glorfindel nodded, but did not speak, for he had thought their antics in the stream childish. And he was a little ashamed, for he knew should have known better than to judge those whose customs were different. Estel continued, "They are a folk of farms and fields. Never before have any of them faced any creature more fell than a wayward bull, or a sow protecting her young."

Twice Estel looked as if were about to say something more, but he did not speak. In the awkward silence, he drew out a long pipe, and a worn pouch, and made a great play of filling and lighting the pipe. Glorfindel looked away from his weathered profile, until Estel finished his smoke in silence, and wrapping himself in his cloak, went to lie with the hobbits.

Then as the sun rose over the distant Misty Mountains, shining through a veil of cloud, so that it seemed no brighter than the moon, Glorfindel looked his fill, and in his sleep, Estel's grim features softened until Glorfindel could see in his face the lineaments of the boy he had loved long before. Estel's arm was outside his cloak, the hem clutched in his hand. That hand was worn by weather and hard living, and dirt was ingrained around the nails. Glorfindel felt a sort of pity then, for it occurred to him that Estel's life had been far from easy, though he had little idea how he had spent it. He felt a sudden impulse to slip his hand softly over Estel's, but the man grunted, and turned over in his sleep, and the moment had passed.


	6. Chapter 6

The sun was high in the sky when Glorfindel woke the others. He urged them to eat, and gave each a little more miruvor from his flask. He kept them to a fast pace for the rest of that day. In the afternoon, he felt the first touch of the blackness of the Nazgúl on his heart.

"They are gathering. They know that_ it_ is near. It will not be long before they accost us," he said to Estel in Sindarin.

"We cannot make any more speed. Look, the hobbits can barely stand," he replied. Glorfindel sighed, for it would have been better had the mortals been stronger – and if the hobbits had had longer legs. "Then we must rest, for when they come upon us, it would be better if all of us had some strength left."

That afternoon, Estel walked with the horse, Asfaloth, and Glorfindel followed behind with the hobbits. Sam was fretting about his vegetable garden, "I wonder if the Gaffer got my taters up? He's getting on a bit for the heavy work. I wonder if anyone will give him a hand? Maybe old Dad Twofoot'd help. The broad beans ought to be in now for next year, too," he complained.

Merry and Pippin made polite noises, and Glorfindel said, "You will like our vegetable gardens in Rivendell when we reach it. My friend Lindir knows much about potatoes and broad beans, and the best time to apply horse manure, and how long it should be rotted for."

"I look forward to meeting him. And not only because it'll mean this wretched journey is over."

"And I shall be pleased that he has a more interested ear than mine to attend to his lectures," laughed Glorfindel.

"What about mushrooms," asked Pippin, "Frodo is especially fond of those." All of them glanced towards Asfaloth's gleaming rump ahead of them, where Frodo still slumped in silence on the saddle.

"Yes, we have mushrooms. We gather field mushrooms from the meadows in Elrond's valley. And we get oyster mushrooms, and sheep's foot mushrooms from the woods. It's about the right time of year, so you may be in luck."

Conversation died then, and Glorfindel could see the faces about him were once again drawn with weariness and worry. He could think of no words of comfort, for their plight was dire indeed, and the chance of success slight. He fell to watching the regular rhythm of Estel's long, booted legs striding ahead of him. Like Glorfindel, he carried his cloak in a roll over one shoulder, for the walking was warm work, and the afternoon was mild. He admired the way Estel's back rose strong from the narrow waist to the broad shoulders. His sword belt hung aslant on his lean hips. From it hung a scabbard, and Glorfindel recognised the hilt of Isildur's broken sword, Narsil.

It was night when they finally halted Glorfindel prepared to watch again. Once again, Estel came and sat with him and smoked. Glorfindel waited to see what he would say, not yet wishing to speak of the past himself. Once again Estel spoke little, and only of commonplace things before preparing himself for sleep.

Somehow it seemed so intimate, to be with Estel, asleep in the starlight, his eyelids closed over his twitching eyes. He was struck with the nobility that age had brought to his old friend's features. Again, he thought to touch Man's, hand, and feel that harsh flesh under his own ageless fingers, but he thought better of it, for he did not know Estel's thoughts on the matter.

-0-

They set off again at dawn. The hobbits' heads drooped, and their steps were noticeably slower than the day before. It was obvious that rest had brought no relief to their tired limbs. Despite their weariness, Glorfindel urged them onwards, for he could feel the enemy were closing in on them.

It was afternoon when they reached the point where the road finally descended from the fells through a small wooded gorge, before opening out onto the grassy river-plain. As the little band of travellers began to travel the last mile to the river, there was a sudden thunder of hooves, echoing in the rocky valley behind them. Glorfindel knew at once that the enemy was hard upon their heels. With one accord, he and Estel took up the rear. "Fly! Fly! he shouted, to the others, "The enemy is upon us!"* His heart leapt furiously in his breast, for he knew this could be it - Sauron's victory and the end of all things that he held dear in Middle-earth.

Asfaloth sprang into a gallop towards the ford. The other hobbits followed, as fast as they could run. Behind them, five Black Riders appeared at the mouth of the gorge, They paused, turning their hooded heads as if seeking a scent on the wind. In horror Glorfindel and Estel watched as Frodo reined in the horse, and turned to face the Riders.

"They are compelling him. I can feel it. He will be overcome," cried Glorfindel, and shouted, "Ride on Frodo! Ride on!" They watched helplessly as Frodo drew his sword in defiance.

"Oh no. You brave little fool Frodo. You cannot hope to withstand them," said Aragorn.

"Noro lim, noro lim Asfaloth,"* Glorfindel cried then, for though Frodo was losing his will to the Nazgúl, at least the horse would obey him. Asfaloth's great hind-quarters bunched, and the white horse once again sprang away from them, towards the Ford of Bruinen. Frodo fell forwards then, across the horse's neck, clinging to his mane. Perilously, his sword was still in his hand. The sound of the elf bells on the horse's harness faded into the distance. For a moment, there was a terrible silence. Then the Black Riders on the Road behind them leaped in pursuit, with a wailing cry. Estel made as if to intercept them, but Glorfindel caught his arm, and said, "Not yet, Estel. I have a better plan. To the ford, quickly." Estel threw off his pack, and set off after the horses at a fast pace. Glorfindel ran light-footed at his side, easily matching his speed.

Ahead of them, the hobbits scattered from the Riders' path, for it was that or be ridden down. Bill the Pony skittered to one side of the track, rolling his eyes and flaring his nostrils with terror. They were ignored as the Riders drove the Ring-bearer towards the ford with deadly single-mindedness.

Four more riders appeared from the trees to the left of the road, two heading towards the river, two galloping flat out for Frodo, crouching in their stirrups, and leaning far over the horses' necks. The odds against Frodo reaching the far side of the river looked overwhelming. Asfaloth passed the two Riders racing to intercept him. Two more Riders were between him and the Ford. It seemed as if all was lost. Even the Elf-trained horse could not pass such a foe.

But with a twist beyond the skill of most horses, and a marvellous turn of speed, Asfaloth avoided the slashing swords and grasping hands, and his hooves splashed into the stream of the Bruinen. The horse halted on the far bank, and turning, neighed his challenge to his pursuers. Frodo drew his sword, and his thin voice drifted across the water, "Go back! Go back to the land of Mordor, and follow me no more."* Once again Glorfindel marvelled at the bravery and hardihood of hobbits, for he knew Frodo's will was failing, yet still he defied his enemy.

"The waters of the Ford will rise against them if they try to cross," cried Estel as they ran onwards.

"Yes, and we shall make sure they do try it," Glorfindel replied. He gestured towards a small copse of trees in a hollow to one side of the road, and they raced towards it. The black horses were stamping and blowing on the bank of the river. Asfaloth and Frodo were on the far bank, but not safe. Not yet.

The copse was littered with driftwood: branches torn from trees by the river in the floods of previous winters. Glorfindel snatched up great pieces. With a word, they flared alight in his hands. He threw them one by one to Estel, who snatched them deftly from the air, and passed them to the hobbits as they trailed panting into the dell.

"Now!" cried Glorfindel, and they rushed from the trees, and down the to the edge of the river, where it spilled from its bed and spread across the plain.

"Elbereth," shouted Glorfindel,

"In the name of Luthien," cried Estel,

The hobbits shouted curses.

The horses of the Nine had started across the ford. That of the Witch King himself had almost set hoof on the far bank, where Frodo sat, still weakly brandishing his little sword. Six Riders remained on the river's edge, the water swirling round the horses' hocks. Their flanks ran with blood from the spurs of their Riders. When they saw the fiery brands, and the form of Glorfindel, with the light of Aman upon him, they reared in terror, and bolted into the river. At that moment there was a tremendous roar and a great wall of floodwater, crowned with white foam, surged down the river, tearing trees and boulders from its path, and swept away the Black Riders and their miserable steeds. Estel laughed in triumph, his face alive with the joy of a battle fought and won against the odds. As Glorfindel caught his gaze, it seemed as if something more than fellowship passed between them.

-0-

On the far bank, elves of Elrond's household ran urgently down the slope to help the Ring-bearer, who lay seemingly unconscious on the ground. Another party of elves appeared over the brow of the hill, on horses. Glorfindel with keen elven sight could see that Elrond was among them. They galloped down to the riverside and dismounted.

Elrond had shed his formal robes, and was clad only in a rider's tunic and breeches, and they watched him kneel beside Frodo and uncover his shoulder. The other elves fell back respectfully.

"Will he be all right now? Mr Frodo, I mean," asked Sam. His face was puckered up with worry.

"The Ring-bearer is in good hands. All that can be done will be," said Glorfindel to the little company. "Elrond is skilled beyond any other in the arts of healing. We can do no more until the waters fall. Why don't you look for your pony?" Sam nodded, although his good-natured face was puckered with worry, and he looked not far from tears.

"Will there be more o' them Black Riders?"

"They are all accounted for. But go warily, and not too far. It is unlikely, but there may be other fell creatures. Evil calls to evil, and they may be drawn to this place." He watched the hobbits make their way back up the road, calling for Bill.

"They will be better with something to do, while we wait for the flood to subside," he added to Estel, "And I saw the pony on the brow of the hill behind us. They will not need to go out of sight even." Across the river, they watched as Frodo was laid on a litter, and carried away, Elrond in attendance.

"Did you see the white horses frolicking in the flood?" asked Estel, "I didn't expect them."

"It was a theatrical touch. It looked like the work of Mithrandir's hand, and I hope that means he has beaten us here." Estel nodded and threw himself down onto the river's edge, well back from the torrent. After a moment, Glorfindel lowered himself gracefully beside him. In the silence that followed, Estel amused himself by throwing twigs from the ground beside them into the surging water with a bitter energy, watching as they were tossed away.

After a while he said, "I didn't know you could light brands like that."

Glorfindel shrugged slightly, for he could not explain how he had done so, save that it was through the strength of his will, and of this he did not wish to speak.

" It is certainly bad news for all of us that the Nine are abroad," Estel continued.

"It will be a while before they ride again now. They will need to replace their horses, and the land of their master is the only place where mounts can be found to bear them," he replied.

"Then luck is with us, for the Nazgúl could have pinned us in Rivendell, like rats in a trap, while they waited for reinforcements. And Imladris would not be able to withstand the full might of Mordor forever. Fortune was on our side this time."

"I would not call it fortune alone. Elrond has been strengthening his defences this last Age and more. And yet there is much to be done before we are ready for the final onslaught, for we do not know yet where it will fall."

As silence fell between them again, Glorfindel could feel the blood still racing in his veins, and he realised it was no longer from the pursuit, but from the closeness of the Man beside him. He knew then that his own heart remained true to Estel. And as he looked it seemed to him that the Man too might still be breathing heavily, long after the race to the Ford was over.

"Glorfindel…" began Estel, in a softer tone. But Glorfindel's keen ears could hear the voices of the hobbits, and the soft thud of the pony's hooves approaching on the beaten earth of the road. Estel had not yet noticed. Glorfindel touched his shoulder lightly, and nodded to the hills behind them.

"They're back."

They turned and watched the hobbits approach.

Bill looked to be in a bad way. His coat was streaked with foam, and his head was down. Sam began to rub him down with handfuls of dry autumn grass, murmuring soothing words to him. Merry said, "It took us a while to find all our stuff. Bill had tossed it all over the place as he ran."

Glorfindel smiled up at him, "His heart is great, but he was not made to face such a foe."

"Which of us is?" added Estel. Glorfindel did not respond.

-0-

A/N Dialogue marked * is not mine, but from The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter 12, Flight to the Ford.


	7. Chapter 7

The little party had to wait a long time before the flood had subsided sufficiently to cross the river. The excitement of vanquishing the Black Riders soon faded, leaving only coldness, shock and fear for their friend. Even the resilient hobbits seemed glum. Merry said gloomily, "I would give my right arm for a cup of tea."

"Maybe with a dash of something stronger in it," added Pippin.

Sam sighed. "I've even got a twist of tea in my pack. And Lord Glorfindel can light a fire with a click of his fingers. There's no milk though. And tea's not tea without milk." His fingers fiddled mindlessly with the buttons on his waistcoat as he spoke, twisting them this way and that. Glorfindel knew that his thoughts were with his friend and master.

"A fire would cheer us though," said Estel. Let's gather some wood."

As dusk fell, they had a merry blaze, and Sam boiled water, and made black tea, seeming to find some comfort in the task. They drank the bitter tea in silence, cupping their hands round the tin mugs for warmth, and breathing the fragrant steam. No one spoke of Frodo, though his fate was foremost in all their minds.

"Do you think we'll be able to cross soon, Strider?" asked Pippin, "I'm sure the water looks lower."

"We'll have to do it before dark falls, or we'll stumble into all those branches that have been washed down," Estel replied, "And goodness know what's lurking under the surface. I'm sure I heard boulders rolling in the flood."

"Let me try it first," Glorfindel said, and without removing his boots, waded in. The chilly water still came high on his thigh, and the current was strong. When he reached the middle, he turned, and made his way back, saying." It's too deep for the halflings. They would be swimming. I'll take Pippin, Estel, you take Merry, and we'll come back for Sam and Bill."

Sam's tense expression changed to one of relief, as he realised he was not expected to try and swim, and he said, "There's no need to come back for me, sir, I'll ride on Bill. He'll need someone to guide him, and he knows me the best." To brook any further discussion he clambered onto Bill's back, and perched precariously among the saddlebags.

It was nothing like the flat pebbles of a well-used ford underfoot. Estel stubbed his toe on a rock, and staggered, cursing. He cursed even more when Merry grabbed his hair in fright and hung on for dear life.

On the far side of the ford, a small company of Elrond's household awaited them with horses, for the journey to the Last Homely House from the ford was long. The hobbits were unable to ride the large animals without saddles, so each was mounted in front of an elf. Bill trotted after the elven horses with enthusiasm, not needing to be led.

They wound slowly up the steep hillside to the open fells. The path was marked with mossy white stones, in places half hidden in the heather. As they reached the top of the climb, the rest of the company of elves brought their horses to an ambling gait, smooth enough for the comfort of their passengers, but fast enough to cover the distance to the Last Homely House.

Glorfindel, with hope in his heart let his horse dawdle, and with a thrill realised that Estel had followed suit. The rest of the party were soon far ahead, toiling up the endless slope of another range of fells. Neither spoke, not even of small things. Glorfindel thought of how they had both lingered in the dusk of a cornfield long before, waiting for each other without speaking.

At the brow of the last hill, before the descent into the valley of Rivendell, Glorfindel dismounted. Glimmering stars patterned the clear sky, and maybe the night, or the enchantment of the valley cast a glamour over him, for suddenly, all questions seemed answered, and Glorfindel, without thinking, murmured softly in Sindarin, "Walk with me Estel." Estel nodded curtly and slid from his horse, though his expression was forbidding.

They released the horses, and let them wander homewards, lipping at tufts of grass as they went. After they had walked in silence for a while, Estel said, "We walked this path together once before. Do you remember?" It had been after the midsummer party when a very drunk Estel had joined him, and they had walked up to the crags above the valley. Glorfindel remembered very well. And suddenly it was as if the years had not passed, and Glorfindel could see that the older Estel was only a translucent shell overlaid on the boy he had once known. Now they walked shoulder to shoulder, so close that their arms brushed with each step, then their hands. And neither moved away. Then Estel turned to him in the starlight, and grasping his shoulders in hard hands, said in a tone of longing, "Glorfindel…"

Then Glorfindel's heart felt as if it burst and overflowed with joy, and neither knew which it was pulled the other into the closest of embraces, so close that each could feel the other's desire. Suddenly they heard footsteps, coming up the path below them, and a light tenor voice broke into a song, as lovely as the sound of the river. The moment vanished, and they broke apart. Glorfindel was forced to turn away, afraid that the darkness would not sufficiently hide his embarrassment from elven eyes.

The intruder passed them by with a word of greeting, and if he had seen two of the great ones of Elrond's household, embracing like lovers in the shadows, he made no comment. When Glorfindel was once more in command of himself, they continued down the path. Estel seemed intent on keeping a distance between them now.

Just before they stepped into the pool of light around the main house, Glorfindel spoke, for it seemed as if something precious was slipping away from him, like thistledown on the air, and he sought to grasp it. "Estel, let us walk a little further. Look. The moon is about to come over the mountains."

"I must find out how Frodo is."

Glorfindel shook his head, knowing much of the deep sickness that lay on the Ring-bearer. "There is nothing you can do. Elrond will work through this night, and others before the halfling is healed. Walk with me, rather than worry indoors".

So again they walked shoulder to shoulder. Glorfindel could smell Estel's body – sweat and wood smoke. Somehow this was not repellent. Still they did not speak, for fear of ending this moment of intense happiness. He led the way from the light, towards the dark gardens. Estel's hip touched his own, moving against him with every stride. In the shadows, they turned as of one accord, facing one another.

"Estel…" Glorfindel murmured, in a tone of love, and hesitated, not surereow to continue. He looked into Estel's harsh face, limned by starlight. His breath steamed in the autumn chill and smelt of pipeweed. When their lips were almost touching, Glorfindel whispered his name again.

Then Estel turned his face away sharply, with a sharp intake of breath. "Oh, Glorfindel. I am pledged to Arwen…"

"You were pledged to me even before. And I to you."

Estel breathed in with a hiss. "Enough!" he gasped, but he did not draw away.

"Just one kiss," continued Glorfindel, devious now in his desperation, sure that if he won it, he could make that kiss into something more. "That is little enough betrayal." Deep down, he knew that was not true. He put his hands on Estel's shoulders and let their lips touch tentatively. Estel's mouth was surprisingly soft and warm in the chilly air, and when his lips parted under Glorfindel's touch, Glorfindel's heart quivered in its sac, so often had he dreamed of this moment. With a sigh, he slipped in his tongue, and softly explored Estel's mouth. He felt the man start to shake against his chest. Then Estel grasped him roughly about the upper arms, and kissed him back fiercely, pressing himself hard against him, chest to chest, hip to hip, and groin to groin. Glorfindel felt his knees buckle, and together they half fell, half lay down on the dewy grass.

Glorfindel reached down, but Estel caught his wrist, "No, wait. I have not bathed… for ages"

"I can't wait…"

"Ai Glorfindel…I do not even know what to do." He trembled against Glorfindel's body.

"Shh. Let me…"

It was as if some dam had burst. All scruples were cast aside. Glorfindel, feeling the strength of Estel's desire, tore frantically at the buttons of Estel's breeches with shaking fingers, and clasped the flesh he had so long imagined. Then to his joy, he felt Estel's hand press against him, though his clothes. He moved his hand in firm, hard strokes, and it did not take many of these before Estel tensed, his flesh pulsing in Glorfindel's hand and Glorfindel felt his seed spill in hot bursts over his fingers. The sight of Estel's starlit face convulsed at the pinnacle of pleasure, was too much for Glorfindel, who thrust urgently against Estel's hand, and lost all control himself too.

Afterwards, as they lay limp together, Estel, explored himself, and said ruefully, "I seem to have made a bit of a mess."

"As have I. Let's hope we do not meet anyone who notices."

They lingered under the trees, unwilling to break the enchantment that held them. Glorfindel drew himself up onto one elbow, the better to look at Estel sprawled dishevelled on the grass. A silver chain lay askew across Estel's throat, and Glorfindel drew it out. Attached to it was his own beryl, which he had left as a sign on the Last Bridge, only a few days before. Now it seemed as if that had been in another Age.

Estel said, "I knew it was you on our trail when I saw that stone."

"I never thought you would remember it."

"How could I forget, when you wore it on your breast all that summer."

He made to unclasp the chain from his neck, but Glorfindel caught his wrists, and stopped him, saying, "Keep it. It gives me such pleasure to see it round your neck." A silver locket jangled against the beryl, and Glorfindel took it in his fingers. He knew with a sense of foreboding what he would find inside, but he could not stay his hand. He picked open the catch. Inside was a portrait of Arwen, done in exquisite detail, though it was no bigger than a fingernail. The artist had captured the essence of her beauty, and he knew at once who had painted it.

"Erestor," he said, his mood darkening.

"Yes," said Estel, tightly. "It is one of his."

"It's a fine piece of work."

"Please don't let's talk of this now." Estel gently took the locket and closed it, and hid it, and the beryl inside his undershirt. He took Glorfindel's face between his two hands, and drawing him down, kissed him. Arwen was forgotten for the moment, and Estel said, when they drew apart, "This is how I always imagined you. Curtaining me in your hair." He ran his fingers through the pale strands.

"I'm sure you mentioned that you didn't know what to do," Glorfindel teased.

"Mmmm."

"You seemed quite proficient."

"The geography is familiar. And I learn quickly."

"Surely there was some village maiden in your travels, who offered herself to you in thanks for your services?"

"There were." Estel smiled lazily up at him and Glorfindel's heart turned over.

"And you took advantage of their offers?"

"Of course I didn't"

"What about a lusty young ranger?"

"Don't be disgusting."

"So you have never…"

"Never."

It pleased Glorfindel that there had been no others. He had been sure that Estel would have found solace somewhere, in his long years in the wild, and he leaned down, and kissed him again. When they broke apart, Glorfindel said, "I never imagined our first time to be like this – so…brief, and unfulfilling. I yearn for more."

"You imagined our first time?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Many times, in many places."

"Me too. Perhaps we can visit some of those places together?" He gave Glorfindel a lascivious look.

"I would like that. But come, we had best return to the house," Glorfindel said, "Before anyone sends out search parties."

The thought of being found in such abandonment seemed suddenly so very funny, that they convulsed in laughter. Estel stood, and adjusted his clothing. "Oh look. My back is soaked from the grass."

"And my knees and sleeve. Look, there's a leaf in your hair."

"And grass in yours. We'd better go in the back way. We're less likely to meet anyone there."

"Come on. We can find out if there is news of Frodo"

-0-


	8. Chapter 8

A little later, washed and dressed in clean garments, Glorfindel made his way to the guest rooms where he knew the halflings would be staying. He felt as filled with happiness as a clear glass with water, and was sure that all who saw him would be able to read his heart.

As he lifted his hand to knock at the door, it opened, and to his joy, Mithrandir appeared. He quickly closed the door behind him, but not soon enough to prevent Glorfindel glimpsing Elrond on the bed, clasping the halfling in his arms, and bending low over him, like a lover. Frodo's eyes and mouth were dark pits in his white face. Elrond's face was grey and haggard, and his hair was bedraggled with sweat. It was apparent that he was engaged in a mighty battle to wrest Frodo back from the wraith world. Glorfindel feared then for Frodo, for he had thought that in Elrond's hands his recovery would be speedy.

Still at least Mithrandir was here, and for that at least, he was delighted. "Mithrandir! You are safe!" he cried.

The old wizard smiled, "Did you think otherwise?"

"Of course. We all feared the worst. How is Frodo?" He indicated the closed door.

"Elrond still strives to bring him back from the dark strands where he walks. He had all but passed into that other realm. It will be long before we know whether Elrond has been successful. But I am hopeful. Elrond's healing powers are second to none in Middle Earth." He peered closely at Glorfindel in the dim corridor, and Glorfindel felt his heart laid bare under Mithrandir's scrutiny. Something inside him quailed at this inspection, but all Mithrandir said was, "Come on. After so long on the road, I'm sure you need to eat. You look almost wasted away."

They made their way through the dim corridors to the great hall. It was late, and few still sat round the tables. There was one face in particular that Glorfindel looked for. It was not there. He realised then that Arwen was almost certainly in residence, and that Estel would undoubtedly be with her. The thought of them dining alone together was bitter. Jealousy washed over him like a pail of cold water, and his heart turned to stone.

Mithrandir led him to where a flaxen haired elf sat alone, lingering over his wine. It was someone unfamiliar to Glorfindel, although whether he was a visitor or some new refugee, Glorfindel did not know. Mithrandir said, "Glorfindel, allow me to introduce Legolas Thranduilion, of Taur-nu-Fuin. Legolas, this is Glorfindel." Legolas rose and bowed, and Glorfindel bowed in return.

So, he thought, not a refugee then. The son of the king of Mirkwood. The last thing he wanted was to make polite conversation with a stranger when his heart sought solitude to relive the experiences of an hour before, but he schooled his features into an expression of interest and bowed, saying, "I am your servant, Legolas."

Legolas rose, and bowed in his turn, saying, "As I am yours, Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower. I had heard that you resided here in Imladris."

"Indeed, for an Age or more. Though none now call me by that title, for it is of a time and place long since lost." How hard it was to speak thus of commonplaces, when a short while before a thing of such moment had occurred.

Mithrandir poured wine, and plied Glorfindel with fresh bread, cold meats and fruit. He picked over a handful of blackberries, inspecting each one for invisible flaws, for his appetite had fled. Mithrandir appeared unaware of his inner turmoil, and said, "Tell me of your journey, and of how the Ring-bearer came by that wound."

"Ring-bearer?" interjected Legolas, "Do you speak of that Ring of the Enemy, which was long since lost?" Mithrandir inclined his head. "Truly Imladris is a place of legends!"

"It would seem that your people have not forgotten their lore," Mithrandir replied, "Perhaps if I had sought help in the libraries of Thranduil, rather than those of Gondor, I would have found answers sooner, and we could have brought the ring to safety without the agents of the Enemy biting at our heels. Anyway, Glorfindel, your tale?"

Glorfindel dragged his thoughts back from where they wandered again through a certain glade in the gardens. "Aragorn would tell that tale better than I, for I only know of it second hand." There was a pleasure in letting his lips form that name, of hearing it spoken in his own voice. A thrill ran through him.

"I have not been able to find Aragorn, so you will have to do," said Mithrandir.

-0-

It was several hours before Glorfindel was alone. Perhaps it was wise of Mithrandir to keep him talking to Legolas, rather than alone with his jealousy. He realised that he and Estel had made no further tryst, and he was tempted to seek Estel's chambers, unsure whether he wanted to strike him, or make love to him. Then a nasty little voice inside him said, "Why should you chase after him like the hunter after the hind? Let him come to you if he wants you. Then you'll truly know what he feels."

He tossed and turned anxiously in his bed, as the night wore on, and his door remained closed. His flesh yearned for a closer joining, and he was plagued with thoughts of Estel with Arwen. Though he knew they were not physically lovers, his jealous heart made them so. Eventually he fell into an uneasy sleep. He was wakened in the small hours by a crack of light at his door and Estel entered, obviously trying to be quiet. He bore a shuttered lamp, which he placed on a chest, so it cast a dim light over the room.

A huge relief stole over Glorfindel, but at the same time he was not minded to let Estel off easily. He sat up; his hair, bound up for sleep, fell in a braid over his shoulders.

"Where have you been?" There was a note of petulance in his voice, as he spoke, that he hated.

Estel was washed and clean-shaven, and his clean hair curled about his face. A part of Glorfindel noted that it was less abundant than it had once been, and that he no longer styled it in the Elven fashion. He was also dressed in robes of velvet, of the grey-green of the sunlit sea in the afternoon. The pile was worn in places for fine cloth was becoming a precious commodity in Rivendell as more and more elves left for the sea, and the weavers and spinners grew fewer. A circlet of mithril bound his brow, and a faint, familiar scent of flowers hung about him. Glorfindel knew then, and he said, "You've been with _her_." He spoke with a venom he had not known he possessed.

Estel wouldn't meet his eyes. He sat down on the bed, then stood up, and strode hastily up and down the room. Eventually he said, "I made a mistake. What we did was wrong in the eyes of Elves and Men. And certainly in the eyes of Arwen." He seemed unaware that each word pricked Glorfindel as deeply as the stab of a stiletto.

"You told her then?"

Estel shook his head. "I could not, " he said, "For the shame of it."

Despair filled Glorfindel and he said, "What was this thing between us then? For I can conceive of no other reason than love for what we did."

Estel sat down suddenly on the bed and his shoulders slumped. "Damn you First-born and your changeless beauty," he cried, and hid his face in his hands, "How can a mere mortal resist?"

His pain cut Glorfindel to the quick, and, jealousy forgotten, he put his arm round Estel's shaking shoulders. But Estel shook him off, saying emphatically, "It is Arwen I love. Please don't make me betray her again."

"I seem to remember that you were a willing participant. I was not aware that I forced you," Glorfindel said, stiff in his pride.

"You took advantage of my too weak flesh."

"Surely your flesh, like mine, is obedient to your mind – to your very fëa even? I could not take from you that which you were unwilling to give."

"It is more complicated than that."

"Well it was hardly my fault that I could not read your motives. We'd better not do it again then, had we?" Although he spoke with such calmness, rage and grief filled him: grief for the loss of this love he had thought secure and rage at the duplicity of this man, driven by strange motives which he could not fathom. Ai, he cried inside, how could I have known that it was not with you as it is with me? He had thought that a second chance of happiness in love was a gift from the Valar, but it appeared that he was never to receive their grace, and this love, like his last was to be snatched from him.

He half expected Estel to get up and leave, but he still lingered, gazing intently at his fingers, as if unwilling to terminate this discussion, although it seemed to Glorfindel that they had said all that there was to say on the matter. Estel seemed to be upset, although he had been the one to terminate their affair, against Glorfindel's will. Glorfindel reached out for the last time as a lover to stroke a stray lock from Estel's face. Having touched him, he could not bear to stop; to have touched him for the last time, and his hand lingered at Estel's cheek. He realised then that Estel wept, and then Estel turned his face into that caressing hand, and pressed a kiss wetly into his palm.

Ai, thought Glorfindel, does he know what he is doing? He sat rigid, not wishing to beguile Estel against his will nor to break the enchantment of desperate hope that fell over him. Estel raised his head, and for the first time, looked into his eyes.

"Oh Glorfindel. For all that I've said, I cannot help but love you. I shouldn't pretend that it's your fault. Any blame lies equally on me."

He reached out to clasp Glorfindel, but Glorfindel caught his arms and would not allow it, saying, "You must think longer on this matter, before you let your body betray you against the will of your heart."

"At least let me stay with you tonight. I would like to sleep by your side. There need be no…"

Glorfindel smiled, and said wistfully, "I think we both know that that last part is not true. Sleep on it. Alone. And we can speak again tomorrow." Estel stood then, and with a curt nod hastened from the room.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning, after a night of fitful sleep, Glorfindel lingered in that twilight place before wakefulness. It was the first night he had spent in a bed for many a year, and the soft pillows and smooth sheets were a comfort he was loath to leave. At the back of his dozing mind was a dim awareness that something unpleasant awaited him in the waking world that he was in no hurry to face.

In the end a sharp rat-tat on the door brought him to his senses. Despair fell on him like a dark cloud, but he was unable to wallow in it, for the door was already opening, and Erestor entered unceremoniously. "What are you doing still in bed? It is already mid-morning." He swept across the room, and threw open the shutters. A shaft of sunlight fell across the bed.

Glorfindel groaned, "Oh don't. The light is too bright. What do you want Erestor? Have you found some anomaly in the annals of Gondolin? Couldn't it wait 'til later?" It was an effort to make even so feeble a jest.

Erestor made an impatient noise, and said, "You do talk nonsense Glorfindel. As if I would disturb you for that."

Glorfindel rolled over in bed, and squinted at his old friend, "Well?"

"Riders are approaching bearing the standard of Gondor and Elrond is still with the Halfling. Our scouts say that it is the son of the Steward, and we must welcome him as befits his station. That means you have to get up and join us, Glorfindel."

There was some small relief in the everyday actions of dressing, and selecting a formal robe. Erestor's presence too enforced a certain level of self-discipline that Glorfindel did not think he would have achieved alone. It was most important that nothing in his conduct invited prying questions.

-0-

The little group of elves assembled in front of the house, and watched as the horses of Gondor* picked their way down the steep path, led by Gildor. Elladan brought up the rear. Autumn was descending swiftly on the valley, and the larches on the high fell-sides were yellowing. Brown crumpled oak leaves spun lazily down onto the lawn.

When at last the horses stamped and blew on the grass, the standard bearer urged his gelding forward and cried in Westron, "Know all ye who gather here that this is Boromir, first son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, who is come to speak with the master of this house."

Glorfindel stepped forward, and replied, "You are welcome in Rivendell, Boromir son of Denethor. I am Glorfindel of Gondolin." It felt appropriate to resort to this ancient title in front of the bombastic herald. Lindir passed him the welcome cup, and he proffered it to Boromir, still on his horse. The herald dismounted in some haste and taking it from Glorfindel's hands tasted it first himself, before passing it to Boromir. A murmur of surprise and insult rose from the gathered elves, like a gust of wind in the high branches of the trees. Elladan slouched on his horse and looked on with sardonic amusement. Gildor looked cross.

Glorfindel received the welcome cup from Boromir, sipped himself, and passed it back to the other members of Boromir's party. "I hope they will get off their horses, and don't expect to ride them right into the Great Hall," murmured Erestor in his ear, below the level of human hearing.

Glorfindel rallied himself, and spoke direct to Boromir, "I expect that you are fatigued after your long journey, and wish to bathe, eat and rest." I do hope in that order, said a voice in his head, "Lindir will show your herald where your horses may be stabled."

Boromir dismounted and said, "I can hardly believe I am here in this fabled place. Our quest has been long, for none in Gondor knew where it could be found, and we have followed myth and legend, and seen many strange things before your scouts stumbled upon us." He grasped Glorfindel's forearms in a warriors' salute, and followed Erestor into the house. His men followed suite, except for the herald, who had been tasked with the care of the horses.

"Well, that was awkward," remarked Glorfindel to Elladan in Sindarin, "Do you think they know how rude they appeared?"

Elladan smirked. "No, and I daresay they think Erestor is nothing but some kind of servant, because he is showing them to their rooms. They will not understand the honour he is doing them. Gildor and I have had the pleasure of their company for three days, so we have seen a little of how their minds work. They're all right really though. Just a little overawed by a trip to Faërie, and not entirely sure that a hundred years won't have passed when they leave the valley."

"It might be better for all of us to miss the next hundred years. These are dark times. I found the Ring Bearer - wounded by a Morgul knife." Elladan let out a whistle of dismay. Glorfindel continued, "Elrond wrestles to bring his fëa back to us. In fact I must seek news of him."

"And I will give Lindir a hand. And act as peacemaker if necessary."

Glorfindel snorted, "Hardly a role that comes naturally to you."

"I am a man of many talents. You do not know a half of them."

"You know, we didn't stumble upon them," said Gildor, simmering with suppressed rage, "We'd tracked them for four days before they turned east, and looked set to miss Rivendell altogether. Then we had to intervene. We were in the middle of their camp before their look-out saw us, even though we made more than the usual amount of noise."

"Come on you two," called Lindir in Westron, "The horses can't wait. And I'm sure I can find a bottle of something refreshing hidden in the hayloft to bring Elves and Men to a détente." The herald brightened at this, for it had looked as though he might have to forego the pleasures of refreshment in favour of the horses.

-0-

Once the guests had been dispatched, and his official duties were over, Glorfindel slipped away to the Hall of Fire. As he had expected, it was empty; the great fireplace cold, although someone had already cleaned the grate and piled logs for the evening. The shutters stood open, and this room, that glowed so richly in the shadowy evenings, when minstrels and bards vied with one another in song and story, seemed faded, even shabby. Dust motes spun lazily in the shafts of sunlight.

Why, thought Glorfindel, even Imladris will not last for ever, nor even for much longer. Whether this was foresight upon him, or merely observation he did not know. He slumped onto a bench in the shadow under one of the high windows.

After some minutes a cracked little voice interrupted his bleak thoughts, "Is something wrong sir?" There was warmth – compassion even, in the tone, and Glorfindel looked up to see a strange little figure, wizened with age, watching him from a seat by a pillar.

Good manners won control, and Glorfindel stood, and bowed, "Forgive me sir, but you have the advantage of me. I am Glorfindel." The creature was a halfling, he thought, though in his small experience he had never seen one – nor a Man for that matter, so afflicted with years.

"I know who you are, sir. I am Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire. I am Frodo's uncle. I have lived here for some seventeen years. Since I gave up the Ring you know." Bilbo stood, with some difficulty, and bowed in return.

"I did not know that you were once the Ring Bearer."

"I'm very much afraid that I am the cause of all this trouble, you know. And this it will be my just desert if dear Frodo…." His lined face crumpled even more, a thing that had not seemed possible to Glorfindel. His evident grief jolted Glorfindel, for his own despair over lost love seemed trivial in the light of the old hobbit's sorrow. And indeed, Elrond and Mithrandir's continued absence boded ill for Frodo.

Glorfindel managed a thin smile, "I very much doubt that you are responsible. This evil was created long before your birth."

"Ah, but I found it, you see. I could have left it alone, but I found it, and I picked it up. Even though I know that I would never have escaped from under the Misty Mountains without it, I have had cause to regret picking it up."

"I see there is a tale here that I have not heard. It sounds worth the hearing, if you would care to tell it."

"It would while away the time. You know, I just want to know soon, one way or the other. Even if it is the worst. I can't bear the waiting." He sat up a little straighter, and a glint came into his eye, "And it is a long time since I have had the pleasure of telling of my Adventure. I think all here are sick and tired of it."

So Bilbo told the story of how he found the ring in the tunnels under the Misty Mountains, and how the creature Gollum had challenged him to a riddle contest. As the tale drew to a close, Sam bustled in carrying a plate of sandwiches and a flagon of ale. "Come on Mr Bilbo. Don't you go tiring yourself telling your old tales. I've brought us some lunch. Oh, hello Glorfindel. I didn't know you were in here." Despite his amiable words, Sam's good-natured face was drawn, and he looked older. There were dark rings under his eyes.

"Goodness. Is it lunch time already?" cried Glorfindel, leaping to his feet, "I must go and dine with our guests, or they will think us most remiss in common courtesies."

-0-

Lunch was over, and all had departed save for Glorfindel, Erestor, and Boromir, who lingered over honey wine and the tiny sweet honey cakes, which had been made in honour of the guests from Gondor. Glorfindel chafed in the constant company, when he yearned to grieve in private. And he could not stop himself from glancing over to the doors at the faintest noise or movement, looking always out of the corners of his eyes for Estel, who seemed to have vanished for the day.

"I still don't understand why Elrond isn't here. Is he away from Rivendell?" asked Boromir for the third time. He seemed to scent a mystery in the Elves' equivocal answers. Indeed, thought Glorfindel, there was one of sorts, for although all in Rivendell knew of the presence of the Ring, none would reveal it to an outsider.

"No. He is here. As we said before, his labours cannot be interrupted," replied Erestor. "And he may not be available for several days."

Boromir made an impatient movement, and tossed down the remains of his wine. Glorfindel leaned across and proffered the decanter. "Waiting does not sit easily upon a warrior. But tell me what brought you here. Especially with the Enemy at your very border."

"I told you of how we lost Osgiliath, overwhelmed by the numbers of the Easterlings and Haradrim, in alliance with the Enemy. I told of how we held the last bridge for the passage of the remnants of our force. I did not tell that in this battle we faced a greater evil than we have ever known. A great shadow, some said in the shape of a black horseman, who spread despair amongst men and beasts alike. I know not what this creature was, nor even if he was a figment of our own imaginations, created from our own fear."

"I am afraid that he was real enough. We have put such creatures to flight from our own borders not two days hence," said Glorfindel.

"Creatures, you say. How many are there?"

"Nine. Nine black horsemen, trusted servants of the Dark Lord."

Boromir shuddered, his gaze turned inward, as if confronting some private fear, then said, "After this battle, my brother spoke of a dream he had had, in which an unseen voice commanded him in riddles to seek counsel in Imladris. I thought little of it. Dreams are strange and unreliable counsel, and for all I knew it could have been some fell influence of the dark horseman, seeking to divide us. But over the next few weeks, he claimed that the dream returned, night after night, and he seemed much moved by it, and would have left to search for this place at once."

Such dreams could only be the work of Mithrandir's hand, thought Glorfindel, crumbling bits of honey cake on his plate as he listened. He and Elrond must have some scheme that required a representative from Gondor. Perhaps they needed someone to affirm Estel's rights as King of Gondor, when the time came. He could scarcely march to Gondor and proclaim himself King. Not with any likelihood of success, even though Elladan and Elrohir had spent years nurturing tales of the lost Kings of the North at their father's behest.

Boromir was still speaking, "At last, maybe under the power of my brother's suggestion, the same dream came to me. A far-off voice cried to me to seek Imladris. Our father told us that this fabled land lay in the far north, and that the great lore-master Elrond, famed from the most ancient of days, could be found there. I left the next morning."

It was just as well that Estel was absent, thought Glorfindel. A careless word could reveal Elrond's plans, and it doubtless wouldn't suit Elrond to have Estel unmasked as the claimant to Gondor's throne so soon.

The conversation seemed to peter out. "Why don't we show you round the gardens of Imladris", said Erestor, who had done much in the way of planting, and was proud of the beauty of the valley.

"I'm not interested in trees and plants," Boromir retorted bluntly.

"We have an extensive area for weapons practice. I am certain that some sport may be had there," Glorfindel added.

For the first time since he had tasted Rivendell's wine, Boromir brightened, and allowed himself to be led away for the afternoon's entertainment.

-0-

* Boromir claims in the Council of Elrond that he travelled to Rivendell "all alone". I find it hard to believe that the eldest son of the Steward would undertake such a quest in such dangerous times without a small retinue, so I have given him one.


End file.
